Red Christmas
by elle.writes
Summary: Nat stood, stepping off the patio, snowflakes catching her hair, on her coat, smiling – genuinely smiling – as she took in the lights, the snow, the moon as it rose over the arched buildings that walled in the piazza... It was so, so beautiful. (12 Days of Christmas Challenge)


Title: Red Christmas

Author: ELLE

Pairings/Warnings: Natasha/Clint, deviation from MCU canon, mentioned past abuse and violence

Notes: Written for Miss Murdered's and I's "Twelve Days of Christmas" prompt challenge. The prompt was "spirals of memory." Also, a very big HUGE thank you to ivory-leigh for beta'ing this for me very last minute!

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Big, fat flakes fell from the heavens and melted instantly on the cobblestone of the little piazza where Nat sat in the corner of a cafe with her hands on a caffè macchiato, buried in red gloves. Every building boasted bright white lights and there was an enormous tree in the center of the square, glowing and white. Tourists bustled about with bags as Italians wandered their way home and she knew objectively that other people would find pretty, but... pretty was a concept she struggled with. The definable quantities were subjective, and unless she could quantify them it was difficult to make a decision on aesthetic.

She glanced at the clock tower, standing tall against a dark, sunset-blue sky, waiting for seven. Not that she was worried. No – definitely not. He always kept his word – in his own way.

The first bell rang out across the the piazza, loud and jarring but maybe beautiful, and the only thing she could think of was –

 _Red robes and little black books full of sheets of black lines and dots, musical notes she knew by heart. Three months of practice and the amphitheater rang with the voices of children, harmonizing together through the traditional коля́дки. She loved the feeling of it, singing. And not just singing, but being a part of that – the chorus – a part of a group, working together to create something she thought was beautiful._

But it was the last year she would sing. The last year she would be allowed to be a part of anything.

The next bell rang and she remembered –

 _Family, laughter, snow falling behind the windows, the smell of all her favorite foods filling the house – kutya and vzvar and cookies decorated in red and white like_ _матрёшка_ _. The house was overly warm from the wood stove and the company and her special red velvet dress, but she relished in the attention of her aunts and uncles. There was a huge fir tree in the living room – she had helped her mother hang all the ornaments after dinner – blue and green and red eggs with gold on satin ribbons – her father watching on the couch, smoking sweet tobacco. It was her favorite time of year and it was perfect, it was beautiful._

It was her last Christmas with her family. She wondered why she hadn't thought of it before but then the third bell rang and it seemed so obvious because –

 _Blood was running down the other girl's face, her own pale knuckles covered in it. She watched as her sparring partner wiped her arm across her face, the other girl glaring back at her. They had been bunkmates, once. She knew her, knew her strengths and weaknesses, knew the way she whimpered in her sleep and faked a blank face. So she used it against her because if there was one of them walking out of there, it was going to be her._

Was that when things had stopped being beautiful? Was it after? On the stretcher for the graduation ceremony? The next bell rang and she wondered, was it –

 _She stood on point in that mirrored room alone, twisting and twisting, her head whipping around quicker than her body, keeping her equilibrium, keeping her from getting dizzy. White slippers slid noiselessly across the floor, calloused and hardened against the abuse – no longer seeping red, no longer smearing blood across the floor. It was almost therapeutic now, the motions easy – meaningless and automatic._

Everything beautiful was broken down piecemeal – functional decomposition. It was everything, wasn't it? It was everything.

And when the fifth bell rang she was in Budapest.

 _Her track record was nearly impeccable – and this mission would be no exception. She had found the perfect hole for the perfect shot with the perfect escape route. She'd schmoozed through the party in a glitzy red dress, gathered herself an alibi, and she had the gun raised – and then_ he _was there. The only way he got the upperhand was because he caught her so completely off guard and although she struggled he had her pinned. He stared at her until she stopped moving completely, his eyes too compassionate, too caring – but honestly? She was tired – so damn tired – and she wasn't even considering ways to exploit that._

 _"I'm with SHIELD," he murmured and she knew in that instant that he was there to kill her._

 _But she also knew – he wouldn't._

 _"Why don't we talk?"_

What was it like to live a life without beauty? Exhausting. It wasn't a life she wanted to live and even now, even now...

 _Avengers Tower was furnished with several spectacular Christmas trees, decorated by staff in red and white. But Tony had bought them a private one for their rec room and was trying to goad everyone into decorating it with him – most likely for Bruce's benefit, she supposed. They were over "flirting," as Clint called it, though it looked a lot more like arguing to her, and he was grinning at her from across the room, speaking without words. Steve had brought up hot chocolate and she took one to be congenial with no intention of drinking it – she didn't really enjoy the taste of chocolate any more – but it felt good to be with them like this, with a team again. But still, it was like a painting to her. She was staring and staring but she just couldn't connect the –_

The final bell rang and she looked up, the breath catching in her throat. It was a feeling she hadn't had in so long – so long her chest ached and her eyes filled with tears despite herself but oh god it was so _beautiful_.

Nat stood, stepping off the patio, snowflakes catching her hair, on her coat, smiling – genuinely smiling – as she took in the lights, the snow, the moon as it rose over the arched buildings that walled in the piazza... It was so, so _beautiful_.

For the first time since she was a child she felt like she was standing inside of the world, a part of it, like she could access it again and she couldn't help it – she laughed, overcome. Because for the first time since she accepted a position at SHIELD, she felt like she was making real progress to reclaiming herself.

"Whoa."

She turned, her face falling, self-conscious, until she verified that it was only Clint. And then she was smiling again, a smile only for him, and although she could feel it slipping away, her training falling back in place, for a moment she noticed how truly handsome he was. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, that boyish face with the puppy dog eyes and the secret smile that was only for her.

He stood beside her, looking out across the piazza and then back at her, lips quirking up, blue eyes sad as usual but still pleased to see her, and he bumped the back of his hand against hers, cautious and uncertain but definitely wanting. Nat reached back with her fingers, slipping them between his, and his smile widened for just a second before he turned his face back towards the square.

"It's beautiful – isn't it?"

Nat's smile tightened a little because although the feeling lingered, she couldn't see it any more – the scene reduced to snow and lights. But then – Clint was there. And there was something there, something deeper, something that lingered under the surface, something instinctual, something even she could feel. Because without him...

"Yeah," she murmured, leaning into him, grateful for his presence. "It's beautiful."


End file.
